


start believing in forever (and ever and ever)

by piratesails



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, Arranged Marriage, CSSS, Captain Swan Secret Santa 2015, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratesails/pseuds/piratesails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's angry and Killian's this close to snapping but that's to be expected when you throw two stubborn, unsuspecting royals into an arranged marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	start believing in forever (and ever and ever)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seastarved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seastarved/gifts).



> my gift to the lovely Chinx as a part of CSSS, and my attempt at combining three-ish tropes. happy holidays, loves!  
> (title courtesy of The XX.)

“No.” Her lady mother is fuming and so is she, the slowly approaching winter becoming little match for the heat surrounding the two of them. She can feel her magic prickling right under the skin of her palm, where it often resides before she brings it out of her entirely.

She isn’t meant to fuel her magic with hateful emotions - Ingrid had warned her about that. But, Gods, right now, the only thoughts in her head are those that would cause all the men and women at court to gasp if she said them out loud _._ Sometimes she wonders if she was meant for a sailor’s home rather than a royal’s.

“Emma Ruth Nolan.” If looks could kill, Emma thinks, they’d both be piles of ashes that her lady’s maid would have swept under the plush Arabian rug by now. “Do not argue with me about this.”

“I can’t believe you’re suggesting this. _You_.”

“Emma, you know we want what’s best for you, and right now-”

“ _Right now_ isn’t good enough,” she throws her hands up as if that will help anything at all, “ _right now_ does not account for the rest of my life. Which is _exactly_ how long I’m going to be spending with a man who I don’t even know the first thing about.”

“You will get to know him,” her mother grits out because, yeah, she’s been repeating that for the better half of the last hour. And then, in a matter of seconds, Queen Snow deflates, shoulders slumping and a heavy exhale escaping her lips. “Honey, you know this isn’t what we wanted. Your father has been in the position of an arranged marriage before and we wanted you to avoid that, to marry for love. But, you’re 24 and the court is getting restless with you turning down every prince that approaches you-”

“I thought that rule was lifted, I thought that you made sure that I’d be able to rule without a husband to seal it.” To say it’s a little insulting would be an understatement. She’s spent all her life being trained to rule and now she’s hit this hurdle, this giant man-shaped hurdle that leaves her blood boiling.

Her mother sighs, “That’s what they told us, and believe me, I’ve argued with them about it for days on end. So has your father. But they refuse to waver their decision, and since there is no actual legal contract tying them to their promise to us, we’re helpless.”

Emma could scream but she doesn’t trust the pin-pricks all over her skin, the ones that are threatening to shatter every glass object in her five-mile radius. Instead, she curls her hands into fists, shuts her eyes tight and breathes in deeply, counting upwards to ten.

By the time she reaches seven, she knows her anger is more directed towards the laws of the kingdom than her mother. By ten, she has her fists uncurled and shoulders set back. She opens her eyes to see her mother regarding her carefully.

“Your father and I have known the Jones’ boys for years,” her mother says softly, and Emma remembers the two boys who’d stood in the middle of the throne room - looking too small with their mussed hair and large eyes. “I would suggest Liam but he’s already engaged to a duchess who lives in the East country. Killian, I’m sure, is just as wonderful as his elder brother.”

“You told me the court wanted me to marry royalty,” she argues. Because as far as she remembers from close to two decades ago, those two boys were sons of a deceased sailor.

“Well, they were adopted by a royal family, and thus that situates them as heir apparents. I don’t blame you for not knowing of them because Misthaven rarely ever consoles with Camelot. Killian may not be first in line to his throne but he is royalty, and so the court approves.”

“Does my opinion hold _any_ weight in this matter?” Emma raises her chin defiantly and she’s sure she looks like a five year old with the never-ending tantrum she’s throwing. Quite the picture of a future Queen.

Queen Snow moves closer, hands reaching to cup her daughter’s face gently. “At least meet him. If even after spending time with him openly and honestly you still don’t think he’d make a rightful partner for ruling this kingdom, then I’ll call it off.” Emma’s face must light up because her mother tightens her grip slightly and adds, “But you really have to try, Emma, I mean it.”

Her parents never have denied her anything and so she nods, the pinching sensation on her skin simmering down to a humming warmth. “I’m sorry for snapping, I really will try.”

She nods but she holds no expectations - not for this Prince and not for herself. Emma Nolan learnt a long time ago that she had not been made for love, and she’s sure this man will do little to sway her of that notion.

-/-

“Nervous, little brother?”

“Of course not, why would I be nervous?” Killian pulls at his collar for the twelfth time (aye, he’s counting, because at least _that_ makes some sort of sense to him). “And that’s _younger_ brother to you.”

Liam chuckles from his place beside Killian as they exit the carriage, noticing the way Killian scratches behind his ear, no doubt. It’s an old habit he never managed to kick and now he presumes he’s stuck with a tell for all the world to see. Liam claps him on the back as he stays rooted in his spot, regarding the large stone walls in front of him, and he can feel the nostalgia radiating off his brother in waves.

This might be the kingdom they were born in, but Killian remembers little of the castle from the last time he was here. Him and Liam had been orphaned, found by a guard outside the palace steps and brought in to stay for a few days until the King and Queen of Camelot had visited by chance, immediately taken with Liam’s propriety and their sad tale. He’s sure if Liam hadn’t insisted, they would have left Killian behind in a heartbeat. His brother might be a git at the core, but he’s Killian’s git.

“Father asked us to send their regards to Queen Snow and King David,” Liam reminds him as if he hasn’t said the same thing nearly five times in their journey over. His brother may be a little nervous, too, he supposes.

Killian nods, runs his hand through his hair, and finally manages to get his brain to comply to the idea of walking towards the front doors. He’s used to castles, used to the ramrod posture of guards and the maids running about in between the large corridors. What he isn’t used to is the concept of an arranged marriage, especially one that’s been thrown at him so suddenly that it’s a miracle he didn’t have a heart attack on the spot. He barely had any time to prepare himself, Liam and his parents informing him of the arrangement when he’d made port and then sending him off to Misthaven barely a fortnight later.

Now, he sucks in a large breath and looks to his brother for support. He doesn’t want to seem weak, but -

Another pull of his collar.

But, Gods, he’s terrified.

“Come along, and remember to behave,” is what Liam offers with a smile, before pressing a flat hand between his shoulderblades to push him forward and towards the throne room.

It’s a large hall, larger than their own, and the bright light from the windows do little to cover the clenching of his jaw. So, he does what he’s always been best at and adopts a cool mask of unabashed charisma. Perhaps he was always born to be in the line of politics.

The King’s voice rings out first as he enters through the back door, a large smile on his face that eases a very small amount of tension from Killian’s shoulders. “Liam, Killian, you’ve both grown so much!”

His brother and him bow in unison and Liam’s wide grin almost matches the King’s. “You saw me only a year ago, Your Majesty.” King David claps his brother on the shoulder and he may not remember much of the castle, but he does remember the King and Queen’s matching kind smiles. “Mother and Father send their greetings and wish you to know that they were very upset they couldn’t be here.”

“We did get their message last night,” the King nods in understanding. His eyes flit to Killian and there’s something there that makes him feel as though he’s being assessed by the man. Killian offers a smile and the King’s lips twitch a bit higher. That’s a victory, he supposes.

“Come,” King David removes his hand from Liam’s shoulder, “you two must be hungry after your long journey. Snow is waiting for you in the dining hall and we can discuss everything that needs to be discussed there.”

-/-

He guessed it would be more formal, but the Queen’s laughter rings across the high ceilings with such melodious ease that he can’t help but smile. He’s yet to see the Princess, his -

Gods, his potential future wife. The entire idea is so absurd. He’d always thought he’d marry for love, much like Liam; always thought he’d have an option, anyway. In a way, he does, because he can opt out of this - but that would mean tarnishing a relationship with a whole kingdom, not to mention disappointing his parents.

“Is the Navy treating you well, Killian?” The Queen smiles politely at him as he thumbs the rim of the cup in front of him.

“Aye, Your Majesty, very well.”

“Killian made Captain aboard the Jewel of the Realm a few weeks ago,” Liam adds, grinning proudly. He’d groan but that would not be very proper, so he settles for subtle glaring.

He’s about to chide his brother but he’s interrupted by a voice from the doorway, “Is that so?”

He turns to see the Princess walking towards them and abruptly, he rises from his chair to bow, faintly registering that Liam does the same. She curtsies and when he finally straightens, he takes her in. All golden waves and deep green eyes and his heart does a little jump all the way to his throat.

He doesn’t remember the castle but he does remember a little girl in a light blue dress with a mess of curls atop her head. He’s been imagining that girl throughout his journey here, trying to stretch her out to his length and age. But now that he sees her, he realises that never in a million years could he conjure up a beauty like her in his mind’s eye.

He’s been staring at her, he realises, so he shakes himself out of his thoughts only to smirk when he notices her equally dazed expression as she takes him in. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip and her eyes follow the motion.

“Certainly, my lady,” he revels in the way her eyes snap back to his with defiance, “I am quite the sailor.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

A part of him feels offense at her accusation but he swallows it down with a larger smirk, “That can be arranged.”

She says nothing after that, keeps mostly quiet for the rest of their supper. He doesn’t know if he should strike up a conversation or leave her be, so he settles for mapping out the curve of her cheeks instead, committing the colour of her hair to memory.

He may hate the notion of this arranged marriage but he finds that he can’t tear his eyes away from the Princess sitting across from him, his thoughts attempting to imagine a smile where her mouth is.

He guesses that the imaginary thing would never match up to the reality, anyway.

-/-

She doesn’t know how exactly she ends up strolling beside him in the garden but she does know that she hates every minute of it. Her best friend, Ruby, had told her to listen to her mother, to give him a chance and to _stop letting those walls of yours come between love, Emma_. She’d scoffed at Ruby in the privacy of her bedroom; she’d wanted to scoff at Prince Killian during supper, too, but that’s a different matter entirely.

“It is far colder here than it is in Camelot,” he says from beside her. The chill surrounding Misthaven has descended in the last few weeks, and if she’s not wrong, it should start snowing soon. But that doesn’t mean she wants to spend her time talking of the weather.

She said she’d try to get along with him, but -

“Can’t handle a little cold, Your Highness?” She adds the title for spite more than anything else.

“I assure you, Princess, there is little that I cannot handle,” he fires back without missing a beat, and she’s not looking at him but she’s sure his mouth is curled up in a wry smile.

She’d roll her eyes if it wasn’t deemed improper. That would make her mother proud, really.

“Are you always this arrogant?”

“Are _you_ always this distrusting?” Her head turns sharply at that and she finds his eyebrows furrowed. “The weather seems to be more hospitable company than you.” There’s a hint of a smile starting on his lips and he means it as a quip, but that only throws her off. He isn’t supposed to be light and charming. He’s supposed to be easy enough for her to dislike.

“I’ll have you know that you know nothing about me,” she bites back. She doesn’t realise it but they both stop walking, stand with their postures perfectly straight and heads tilted up in opposition. He frowns.

“That is a two way road, Princess,” it’s her title that is spit out like venom this time and, okay, so it stings a little. “And precisely what I said when I was told about this _arrangement._ ”

She should find comfort in the fact that he’s being forced into this, too. But, after weeks of not thinking about any of it, her suppressed feelings bubble right back up to the surface and she’s angry and frustrated and _why did he actually have to be handsome?_ But, she has to try, right? That’s what her mother asked of her, anyway.

She looks at him and sees the scruff adorning his cheeks and chin, the little twitch of his nose as he waits for her to reply. Suddenly, he wants to know how he looks when he wakes up in the early break of day, and it hits her so hard that she has no choice but to push it all away entirely.

“Well, at least we both agree that our parents were too far in over their heads thinking this could ever work.” She swivels around and storms back into the castle.

Then again, she never was very good at listening to her mother.

-/-

It’s been four days and Killian’s frustration is like a caged beast banging against his ribcage. It’s none too pleasant, especially when he has to face the object of his annoyance every single day.

Especially when the object of his annoyance has the face of an angel. That, though, is something he doesn’t want to think about.

The night after Princess Emma left him standing in the middle of the gardens, his attempt at conversation having backfired into a glaring match, he’d told Liam that he wanted to call it off. His brother had chucked him at the back of his head, told him it was bad form and called him a sodding fool. Which, honestly, didn’t help much.

The problem is, he isn’t fit for political situations like these. He wasn’t born into this, it was more like being shoved into a dark cave without any survival skills. He’s grateful, though, because he’s seen the orphans and how they’re treated. Still, there’s a part of him that only feels at home when he’s out at sea or by Liam’s side.

Which makes him feel even more out of place when Liam is set to leave to go back to Camelot in a day’s time.

Instead of letting him sit around and mope, though, Liam suggests sparring with the King and so he finds himself one-against-one, his boots scraping against the ground as his sword clashes against the King’s. He’s good with a sword but his agility is of little match against King David’s strength, which is how he finds himself with their swords pressed against each others’. Killian thinks he has one strong push in him to win this fight but then his eye catches a beam of white on the other side of the grounds. His line of sight quickly reveals Emma and another blonde woman, as Emma pushes another beam of white light out of the curves of her palms.

One minute he has his eyes glued on to the vision in front of him and the next he’s lying with his back on the floor, the tip of the King’s sword pointed right under his chin. The King is laughing. The hilt of his own sword slips from his palm as the King pulls him back up.

Killian smiles and brushes the dust off of his trousers but finds his eyes inadvertently drawn back to the Princess as she practices her magic. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen far more kinds of it than he cares for. He knows the dangers it can bring, has experienced a few firsthand when a group of dark magic wielders attacked the kingdom a few years ago. But, the Princess’s moves are practices, poised, have a rhythm to them that he finds himself admiring.  

The problem is, Princess Emma is as brilliant as she is fiery. And so, he is torn.

He’s still watching her when the King speaks up, “She’s rough around the edges but don’t let it scare you away. There’s more to her than those walls she puts up.”

This Killian understands all too well, and he’s a bit taken aback by how alike they are in that sense. But she dislikes him, it’s plain as day.

“Apologies, Your Majesty, but it’s fairly obvious that her walls are present because of her distaste towards me.”

King David laughs again, shaking his head slightly and he wonders if he’s missed out on something here. “I know this isn’t the kind of betrothal that either of you wanted and she is as stubborn as her mother, but I like you, Killian,” he smiles a little at the King’s sincerity, “you’re a good man with a strong heart. She’ll realise that soon enough, too.”

Killian thinks his cheeks must be tinged red at the compliment, but he doesn’t believe the King’s words. He doesn’t believe that the Princess could ever like him, and he doesn’t believe that her anger is misplaced. He watches her again and this time she catches his gaze, the white beam stuttering out of her palms for a second before she knits her brows together and strengthens her stance.

Princess Emma is a force to be reckoned with and is probably this close to splitting his body into two pieces with a flick of her wrist. But the problem is, Liam’s probably right about him being a sodding fool because despite it all, he still wants to kiss her.

-/-

He spends the next few days in between attending political meetings beside her and getting to know her parents. More often, he gets to know her through her parent’s stories. She’s a fair politician, that much he gathers, but she’s also kind in the way she helps the poor and loving in the way she adopts a number of stray animals.

And when he falls asleep one night, he dreams of her hand in his and her nose pressing against his shoulder as she leans into him, an unknown voice announcing them as the King and Queen of Misthaven over a trumpet fanfare.

Even her thin-lipped expression at breakfast does little to sway away his smile.

-/-

Her boots crunch heavily against the layer of snow, and in between her curled fists and her clenched teeth, she’s glad she went with trousers instead of one of her usual dresses. She can feel him following behind her, his steps just as hard as if it’s the ground they’re mad at and not each other.

Really, she has every reason to want to punch him square in the face. He’s been nothing but uncooperative since the moment she met him, and now he’s gone and gotten them lost in the middle of a snowfall that’s picking up its pace with each passing second.

She spotted a cabin on their horse-ride up here, one she knows to be abandoned. That being her only destination in mind, she’s glad Prince Killian has at least some sense in him to let her lead, reigning in her hose, Leia, behind him.

By the time she’s shoved the door open with the side of her shoulder and stomped off the snow from her boots, he’s right behind her. The cabin, she realises once she looks up, is more of a small stable. Though there is a thick layer of dust covering each surface, she has to admit it’s convenient. At least one thing has decided to go her way.

Killian stays quiet as he ties up her stallion and she pokes and prods at the corners of the place, looking for any source of food or light or _something_ because it’s getting darker and snowing harder. She comes up short and releases a huff. She’d never been able to get a hang of creating heat with her magic, and it had always made Ingrid laugh and yeah, Emma gets it, she isn’t exactly the warmest of people.

She’s left alone with Leia when Killian exits the cabin. Whether its to check their perimeter for safety, or to see if there’s any food to scavenge from the trees, or to get some space to breathe away from her, she doesn’t really want to think about it.

She’s been trying her best not to think about him and her possible impending marriage. Every time she makes an excuse about him to her parents, they bring up an instance where he’s proven himself otherwise. How he’s managed to win over her parents in a handful of days, she’ll never know.

Between the first day and now, she’s managed to keep her distance from him as much as possible. He’s just as bad as all the Princes she’s met at the balls her parents insist on throwing, except there’s moments where he looks at her with a soft gaze and an open expression and it makes her want more. And that part, more than anything, has her pushing away with all her might.

She cups her hands together and tries to focus as the door opens and shuts but when she hears Killian’s murmured “It’s bloody freezing in here,” her fingers clench into fists once again.

She turns back and stalks up to him, an accusing finger pointed straight at his chest, “You know all of this could have been avoided if you didn’t take that left turn, so _you_ don’t get to complain.”

He lets out a short, humourless laugh before bending towards her with something she can only call a snarl. “I only turned left because you were screaming in my ear, darling, so don’t go pointing your fingers at me.”

“You always have to be right, don’t you?” Her finger brushes against the soft material of his shirt as he breathes in.

“Well, one of us has to be,” he raises a condescending eyebrow and _God_ , he’s infuriating.

“I could turn you into a toad right now.”

He steps into her space, then, a glint in his eye, snowflakes dusting his hair, “Those are empty threats, love, and you know it. I can see right through you, and this whole bloody arrangement frightens you.” The easy way the pet name fall from his lips makes her stomach churn with unexpected butterflies. She hates it.

“You’re wrong.” He isn’t, but she can’t let him believe he is. Especially since his ego is already so inflated.

He smirks in reply, shuffles a bit closer to her like he knows the effect he has on her. Ever since he flashed that first dimpled smirk at her in the dining hall, she’s wanted to press the pads of her fingers against the dented skin and feel them form under her fingers. She’s an idiot.

“Didn’t we establish that I’m always right?”

“This is _exactly_ why I refuse to agree to the idea of marrying you.”

He stares at her for what feels like an eternity and steps back barely an inch, but enough that the tip of her finger isn’t touching his torso anymore. His mouth drops to a frown and his voice drops to something above a whisper, “Would it really be that bad? Marrying me?” It catches her off guard completely.

Which is what she blames her racing heart on, blames the stuttered out “What?” on, too.

He steps back further and runs a hand through his hair, effectively brushing off most of the snow from his hair. But, there’s still little bits clinging to his eyelashes that she can’t keep from staring at. He’s cheeks are flushed and she can’t stop staring at those either. He sighs, “Forget it, it’s clear you’ve made up your mind on the matter.”

And, she’s only reinforcing the thought that she’s an idiot when she says, “Wait, do you _want_ to marry me?”

The smile he gives her is a little sad, his one hand going to scratch behind his ear before he’s shoving both into the pockets of his trousers. “I’ll admit, at first I was appalled to the idea as much as you are. But the last few days, well, I just don’t see the harm in trying.”

She stays quiet because she doesn’t actually know what to say to that. She thought they were on the same page about this whole thing - certainly made things a lot easier. She can handle him smirking and gritting his teeth but she can’t handle his tentative smile and hopeful words. Especially when she finds that she could very well agree with all of them.

She thinks about Ruby telling her to let her walls down, her parent’s silent encouragement to do the same.

“Marriage is just a big deal,” she shrugs lamely, anger dissipating.

He turns away from her to peer out the small window of the room. “It’s piled on pretty heavily now.” He’s giving her an out of the discussion and she releases a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

She cups her hands again, practically staring a hole into her palms. She can feel his stare on her from where he stands. “This would be easier without the pressure, you know.”

He’s next to her again in a matter of moments. Cautiously, he brings one of his hands to curl around hers. “You’re shivering.”

“Hence, the attempt at making heat.” She sighs, “Not that it seems to be working.”

The fact that she doesn’t pull away probably gives him the confidence to curl his other hand around hers, too. Which leaves them both standing in the middle of the room, but her hands pressed in between his.

“I’ve never had an inclination towards magic, I’ve only seen it being used as a weapon to harm and a means for selfish gain,” he says and her stomach drops because she knows that there will always be a part of her that throws of any potential with anyone. His eyes are trained on their hands, his fingers gently tracing hers, “But your magic, there’s something about it that makes me believe that there can be good in something as terrible as this.”

She pinches her brows and studies his face, detecting no lies in his speech. Other Princes have always been wary of her magic because it’s not something that Princesses possess.

She’s still trailing her eyes across his face when he looks up grinning. She tilts her head, “What?”

“Is it just me, or is it warmer in here?” He raises an eyebrow at her.

She feels the heat against her palms, against her skin, around the room. “I-,” she cuts herself off because she’s not exactly sure what to say.

He releases her hands and steps back, still smiling, and slumps down against a wall. He reaches into the satchel he’d dumped next to Leia and pulls out a deck of cards. “Now, what’s say we play a round or two in order to pass the time?”

She’s a bit amused at the sudden shift in whatever that is in between them. And she’s frightened at his admission, at the fact that the room is actually not anywhere near to becoming an ice cave anymore. But, she slumps down next to him anyway, returning his smile with a small, shaky one of her own.

And she might still hate the forcefulness of the court and the way that her heart kind of stutters around him but when his grin grows as she shuffles closer to him, all of that drops away and for the first time in a long time, she wonders if there is a chance for her after all.

-/-

He wakes up to Emma’s head tucked between his shoulder and chin, her hand on his chest while his arm is wrapped around her waist. His breaths come out in time with hers and he isn’t sure how they ended up falling asleep with their limbs tangled, her body curled into his, but it’s not like he minds one bit.

The room is still warm, and he can’t figure out how Emma went from yelling at him to grinning at him, soft dimples denting her cheeks. It’s the first few real hours he’s spent getting to know her, getting to know that her favourite animals are swans, that she prefers drinking hot, melted chocolate with cinnamon, that she’s always had magic but it took her a while to stop being embarrassed of it.

That she scrunches up her nose when she disagrees with something, that she fidgets when she’s uncomfortable, and that even though the way she knits her brows is endearing, his favourite thing about her is the way her eyes light up when she talks about something she likes.

She shifts a bit beside him and her fingers clench where they rest over his heart. Her eyelids flutter before opening and she moves her head back to look at him.

“Evening, Princess,” he smiles.

She blinks up at him and he’s thinking about just how much trouble he could get into if he tilts his head down and kisses her - he’s thinking of it so carefully that he misses her moving forward, misses it entirely until her lips brush against his.

Her upper lip is trapped between both of his lips, and it’s soft and tentative, but she’s kissing him. And maybe he was wrong before, maybe his favourite thing about her is the way she sighs straight into his mouth.

When she pulls back, he thinks - hopes - it’s with reluctance. She watches him from beneath her lashes, darts her gaze down to his lips and whispers, “Evening.”

He only waits a second before surging forward and crashing his lips against hers. She gasps and he takes advantage of her surprise to deepen the kiss, to run his tongue along her bottom lip. He doesn’t know if any of this is proper, doesn’t think Liam would react very positively to his passionate urges. There’s a hard bit of wood pressing uncomfortably into his back but he can’t find it in himself to care when Emma’s wrapping her arms around his neck and all but climbing into his lap.

His hand tangles in her hair, the other pulling her closer from where it rests on her waist. He feels a zip of electricity against his cheek when she rest her hand there and it causes him to freeze for a second. She pulls back then, and he misses her warmth immediately. “Sorry,” she mumbles, her lips still brushing against his. “Sometimes I can’t -,” she pulls her hand back and shakes it as if getting rid of a numbness in it. He reaches out and grabs it, halting her movements.

He brings her hand to his lips, kissing the pad of each of her fingers, feeling a little shock of current every time her skin meets his mouth. He ends it with a kiss to her palm, keeping his gaze trained on hers. “I happen to like your magic, Emma,” he mumbles into her hand. She watches him carefully and he realises it’s the first time he’s called her by her given name.

Her mouth is a bare fraction away from his when she says, “And I think I happen to like you, Killian.”

Killian pulls her closer, as if it were even possible. She laughs right before her lips touch his, and when he presses forward, he feels her smile grow larger right under his lips. And he thinks he’ll never truly be able to decide what his favourite thing about her is.

-/-

The snowfall stops as day breaks and after a night of conversation and more shared kisses (he’d told her of his insecurities about being at court, told her of how he wants to make his parents proud, how being apart of the Navy feels like the last connection he has to his father - and she’d pressed her lips to every exposed inch of his face until he’d smiled at her with his dimples flashing in kind), the two of them walk back to the castle grounds, Leia’s reigns in one of Killian’s hands while the other securely holds hers.

It’s an odd thing because it’s freezing outside but the two of them are in a bubble of warmth that she didn’t know she was capable of creating at all. And it may be a long ways away, actually getting married to him. But when they reach back to the castle and her mother pulls her into a fierce and relief-filled hug, she meets his eyes over her shoulder, over her father clapping him on the back, and there’s nothing but a flicker of hope that starts in her heart.

She effectively ignores the knowing look her mother gives her (and she doesn’t even want to _think_  about what Ruby’s reaction will be), instead opting to thread her fingers through Killian’s and lead him down to the kitchens for some well deserved hot chocolate; though not before pulling him into a hidden corner of the corridor and kissing the laughter off of his lips, of course.


End file.
